


All Right

by Caesia390



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caesia390/pseuds/Caesia390
Summary: Quirrell sometimes has fantasies.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	All Right

=====

Quentin had never really appreciated his head, his scalp, the fine brown hair that lay listless upon it. Combed it in the morning and then forgot about it. It was naturally tame, naturally an even, pure colour that glinted red in some lights.

Just hair.

But now he imagined – fingers threading through it. Not his own. A lover. Someone strong. Someone to smile at him and thrust strong, even, heavy strokes, smiling confidently (quidditch player’s smile), _“Everything will be all right.”_

Nothing will be all right.

But Quentin’s lover doesn’t know that.

Quentin’s lover tangles a strong, thick hand in the short strands and tugs and Quentin is almost ashamed of the weak little cry he makes, a sort of “ah,” but that’s all right; his lover knows he’s strong inside. His skin might sweat and his heart might beat a staccato and his tongue might st-st-stutter, but inside, Quentin Quirrell is strong. Inside, Quentin Quirrell knows right from wrong, good from bad, just from unjust.

But Quentin Quirrell also knows strong from weak and powerful from powerless.

At this point, Quentin’s lover turns him on his stomach and his calloused hands are gentle, tracing the freckles on the mostly-smooth skin. (Does he know where Quentin got those freckles? Does he know about the hours in the clearings, summoning the Dark Creatures but meanwhile soaking up all he could of the Light?) And Quentin’s lover kisses his shoulder, maybe, but now his strokes are rough and punishing, rasping his insides, and Quentin’s pillow is warm and damp beneath his face and when he catches his breath it’s not from pleasure.

Quentin has seen such Darkness…

Sometimes his lover is a Weasley. Charlie. The dragon-hunter. Quentin doesn’t really know him but he knows of him, knows that stocky, powerful body, those fire-tested limbs, the infectious smile and that hair… That hair so bright it burns him to look on it.

Charlie Weasley would never understand. Charlie Weasley would lose his smile in disgust.

There was a Keeper in his own year. Gryffindor. Utterly enormous, muscular build. Almost divine arrogance. Just intelligent enough. Face like someone had sat on it, but, “What are you looking at, Hufflepuff runt?” And the insult was almost an endearment.

“N-n-nothing.” And Quentin hadn’t known. Hadn’t known, then, what had caught his attention, why he was staring at Harrison’s muscles bulging in his quidditch uniform.

“What are you thinking so hard about, runt?”

Harrison cradling his head with his giant hands, strong enough to break him, strong enough to crack his neck, but just cradling him, that heavy weight crushing him, that thick cock resting between his buttocks, sated for now. Protecting him.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.” Nothing that mattered. Nothing that couldn’t be forgotten under a ton of keeper muscle and that cock like a club with its steady, heavy beat.

Harrison, I have seen such Darkness…

Harrison would laugh. That ugly, coarse bark of his after Gryffindor had creamed Hufflepuff yet again (Quentin only in his last years at Hogwarts discovered a consummate interest in the sport).

“You think too hard, little Hufflepuff.”

Harrison would laugh and thrust his nose into Quentin’s fine, red-brown hair as he came.

…

He could smell his own (his Lord’s) stink – pungent garlic, festering in his turban. Warding people away. Not that Quentin considered himself particularly attractive, but if, for some reason, someone did get close, could get close… To unwrap the bandages. A woman, maybe, infinitely compassionate.

 _Do you want a lover, Quentin?_ Slow, creeping curiosity. Hissing amusement and the Dark Thoughts swirling around his mind.

‘Just idle fantasies, my Lord.’

He had never wanted a lover. He had wanted _sex_ , at times. He had had sex, a few times, but lovers were too complicated; lovers required too much _trust._

_You don’t need trust when you have power._

‘Yes, my Lord.’

=====


End file.
